Color the Sidewalk for Me (51 page)

The cord felt slippery in my palm. She didn't need to say it; I knew. After my hateful act of revenge, little wonder Danny had ultimately changed his mind about us forgiving each other.

“Never mind, Miss Jessie,” I breathed. “It doesn't matter.”

“But Celia, after all these years—” She paused. “That is, since you're asking. I always thought you'd decided on Bobby. That was true, right?” Why was she insisting on explaining this? “And then when Kevin died, you just couldn't face stayin' here. I never thought that now you might still . . .”

She seemed to have trouble finishing her sentences.

“I don't,” I insisted. “I don't care, if that's what you're thinking. After all this time? Heavens, no, that was seventeen years ago; we were just kids.”

“Celia—”

“I don't care.
I'm glad he's happy! Thank you for telling me.” I had to get off the phone; my voice could no longer hold steady.

“He knows you're in town.” Miss Jessie kept at it. “Do you want me to say hello for you if he calls from New York?”

Wouldn't that just do it, I thought. How sociable, after seventeen years. “No, I don't think so.”

“Are you sure? He'd be so glad to hear from you. More than you know.”

Right, Miss Jessie, so glad. Glad enough to be skipping into a jewelry store as he looked for a ring to put on someone else's finger.

“No, Miss Jessie. Forget it. I mean it.”

“Well. Okay. Whatever you say.”

I hung up the phone with shaky hands. Only then did I realize Mama was in the kitchen and had heard every word.

chapter 59

T
he world spun, its centrifugal force pulling my emotions in a thousand directions. Mama. Daddy. John. Danny. God. My thoughts bounced from one to another, from victory to loss, and could find no peace.

Mama apparently couldn't gather the nerve to broach the subject of Danny until the following morning. Daddy had just aced his way through another exercise session while Mama ran some errands. She and I were in the kitchen as he sat in the living room, reading the paper. “Celia,” she said quietly, and I knew from her tone what was coming. “I didn't realize how much you still love Danny.”

I froze at the sink, dirty dishes from breakfast in each hand. Our relationship was still too new, too fragile, to speak of this.

“Why not?” I challenged, staring at a smear of jelly on a knife. I told myself to watch my tone of voice. “You loved Henry the same way; why is it hard for you to see it in me?”

She sat at the table, a cup of coffee before her. “I guess I didn't want to believe it, because I . . . because there's—” She rubbed a hand across her forehead. “Because I know how unhappy it would make you.”

“Well, I've hardly been bouncing up and down.”

“No,” she said evenly, refusing to argue. “But there were so many other things to weigh you down. I didn't realize how much of your hurt had to do with Danny.”

I turned on the faucet. “It doesn't matter now.”

“It matters. I want you to be happy.”

“Oh, I'll be fine. As always.” My voice was tinged with bitterness.
“He
certainly sounds happy.”

“Yes. Jessie told me the news.” She hesitated, as if deciding how to continue. “Maybe now, after hearing about his plans, you can finally put it all behind you. God can help you find someone else.”

If only she knew. But even John could never be Danny.

“There are other things in life, Mama.” I scrubbed the knife needlessly. “I have you and Daddy now. Even after I've gone, we'll call each other often. Maybe you two can come visit me sometime. And I'm going to keep working on staying in line with God.”

A smile warmed her face. “I'm so glad to hear that. You know I'm tryin' to do the same thing.” She sipped her coffee. “When are you going?”

“I don't know.” Could she hear my reticence? “I guess when Daddy starts work. My promise to him will be fulfilled then, won't it?”

“I suppose so. You anxious to get back to your job?”

Done with one knife, I picked up another. I held it under a stream of water and watched the jelly melt, unwilling to admit the answer to her question.

At supper I forced away thoughts of John's impending visit and listened as Daddy talked excitedly about the meeting he had scheduled with Mr.

Sledge the following Tuesday. A little over a week past that and his eight weeks would be up. His face had almost returned to normal, and just that morning he'd mentioned trying to walk without the walker. I was so happy to see animation in his features, hear it in his voice. He had thanked me many times, often with tears in his eyes, and I could honestly respond by saying how glad I was that I had come.

The doorbell rang and I jumped. “It's Dr. Forkes,” Mama said.

Daddy placed a hand on her arm. “Let me go.”

Mama and I exchanged a smile as he slowly rose from his chair, holding lightly on to his walker, and headed for the door.

“Whoa!” we heard John declare. “Who might this be?”

“Isn't he somethin'!” Mama called, leaving the table to join them.

My smile unpinned itself and slipped away.

I was gathering the leftovers when John stuck his head through the kitchen door. When he gently spoke my name, I was so busy finding a plastic container for the mashed potatoes that I didn't look up.

“I just wanted to congratulate you,” he said. “You really did it. And I thought you'd never see it through.”

“Thank you.” I pulled out a container, rejected it, and tried another. I could feel his light hazel eyes on my back.

“Does this mean you're leaving soon?”

I shoved back the second container and the whole stack fell from the cupboard. Daddy was asking Mama in the living room if she wanted to go for a walk. No! I begged silently. Don't go now!

“Why is everybody asking me when I'm leaving?” I said irritably. “I don't know when I'm leaving, okay?”

“Are you sure you're up to gettin' down those steps?” Mama asked, balking.

“I'm up ta anything; just watch me!”

“Fine, then, let me take your walker down first.” The front door opened.

Furiously I snatched the containers from the floor and tried to stack them in order, willing Mama and Daddy to stay, wanting them to leave, afraid to turn around.

“You know I'm not trying to run you off,” John said.

That was an understatement. I replaced the plastic bowls in the cupboard, knocking down a row of lids. “Drat it!”

“Celia.”

“What!” I gathered the lids, still too busy to look at him.

“I just want you to know,” he told me quietly, “that I respect what you said at the cabin. As much as I rejected your words at the time, I've been doing a lot of thinking since then. And I need to tell you something. I realize I'm not ready to break things off with Sharon just yet.”

The statement shot right through me. I'd never expected him to make such a decision so fast. At the threat of losing him for good, I began to turn around.

“But I still want to see you.”

I halted, the plastic slick in my fingers. Fleetingly I visualized a woman betrayed. The woman had Melissa's face.

“Celia, would you just look at me?”

I slid the lids back into the cupboard, leaving out two that I needed. I found the bowls that matched, shut the cupboard door. Hung on to the counter.

“I can't, John.”

With resolve I picked up the bowl of mashed potatoes and began scraping them with a rubber spatula into a plastic container, waiting, as I'd done five days before, for him to say something.
Please, God, why is this happening again?
The potatoes done, their lid on, I started on the lima beans. The silence grew longer and I forced myself not to turn around, finishing the beans, snapping on the lid, until I could stand it no more and turned. He was gone.

“John!”

I caught him before he reached the front door. Searched awkwardly for words. “I'm sorry,” I blurted, failing to keep enough distance between us. “We may not have another chance to talk.”

“I know.” His expression turned expectant, pleading.

It hurt, standing so close to him. I swallowed hard, feeling as if everything I'd ever done came down to that one moment. I saw the tragedies of my past, the future years alone in Little Rock. My legs weakened.
God, why?
My mouth opened. I still did not know what I would say.

“You and Sharon.” My voice sounded flat. “You'll make it.”

Of course they would. Everyone around me did. Bobby and Melissa, Danny and his new love, Carrie and Andy, Roger, Michael.

John's face fell. A moment passed before he could speak. “Well, I . . . hope so.” He smiled sadly.

My tears wouldn't blink away. “I'll pray that you will.”

chapter 60

G
unna beat you this time.” Daddy wrapped his fingers around the back of the wooden chair in his bedroom and carefully lifted it, forcing the use of his left arm. Mama had offered to do the supper dishes alone so he and I could play our game. “There,” he said, his words still slow. “I'll sit here an' you stand there. Saam distance.”

On his first try he made a basket. “Two,” he declared.

“Smart aleck.” I bounced the ball and it landed inside the drawer. “Ha!”

“You goin' ta Jessie's tamorrow?” he asked as he took his turn. “Four.”

I fetched the ball. “Yeah. Why aren't you two coming?”

“I don' know.” He shrugged. “Your mama doesn't wanna go.”

“Mama hasn't seen Mrs. B. for a long time, and I know she's going to be there. You didn't say you'd be too tired after church?”

“Heck, no, I'm Tarzan.”

“Yeah. Well, Tarzan, you just missed and now I'm ahead.”

“Not for long.”

We fell into silence as we each made two more baskets. I pushed away constant thoughts of Danny and John.

“You know what?” I said after we continued to score. “This is too easy now. We need a narrower space to aim for. Isn't there a box around here somewhere?” I thought a minute. “Let's do this. Let's pile all this paper and stuff in the drawer into two stacks on either side, and we have to get the ball in the middle. If we hit either of the stacks, it'll bounce away.”

Daddy screwed up his face. “Mama won't like it. She's particalar.”

I shrugged it off. “Don't worry, I'll put everything back where it was.” I knelt before the drawer and began moving things aside until there were two even piles of envelopes, cards, and paper. “There.”

Daddy took a turn and missed.

“Aha!” I exclaimed. “See, it's harder.” For the next three turns I didn't do so well myself.

“You gunna make sure I get ta Sledge's, right?” Daddy said a few minutes later.

“Yes. I promised you, didn't I?” I chased the ball before it could roll under the bed. “You want to go back pretty badly, don't you?”

“Yeah. I'm tired a sittin' here day after day. Need some brain food. Now that I got you and your mama gettin' along, I got nothing ta do.” “Oh, really. Well, you're not exactly swinging from trees yet. Don't think you can let up on your exercises.”

“I know, I know. Slave driver.” He aimed, closing one eye, and threw. “Hey, look, you got it! Straight shot in.”

I moved to the dresser and bent down to pick up the ball. “What's the score, anyway? I for—”

My eye was caught by the corner of an envelope sticking from the bottom of a stack. Something about the few visible curves of writing looked familiar. I cocked my head and stared at it.

“I got ten; you got eight,” Daddy claimed.

“No way,” I responded absently, looking at the envelope. “I've got ten.”

“Uh-uh.”

I reached into the drawer, mesmerized by that little corner of white envelope, and for absolutely no reason my hand began to shake. I told myself it was nothing, just some old letter to Mama, but it pulled me. Grasping it, I hesitated, then slid it out the slightest bit, exposing more of the return address. I saw my own handwriting.

My heart began to pound. My eyes burned a hole through the envelope, and I pulled it out further until I could read the entire return address.
101 Minton Street, Bradleyville, Kentucky.
My throat was tightening; I could barely swallow, and somewhere behind me I heard Daddy asking what was taking so long. My heart was hammering in both ears, blood whooshing through my head. I tried to pull the envelope out further and it slipped from my fingers; I tried again, sliding it slowly, hearing it hiss. It was halfway out and I could not breathe. I rotated my head, waiting for the address to appear, and already I knew. A rubber band ran across the writing, and I could bear it no longer. I snatched the envelope up and a smaller one beneath came with it. I held the top one shakily, reading Danny Cander's name, the familiar Miami address, noticing that the envelope was slit open at the top. I ripped off the rubber band and stared at the smaller envelope, seeing the handwriting I would always remember, the envelope addressed to me, a return address in Greece. A cry escaped me and I fell to my knees, slipping my fingers into the first envelope, drawing out the letter, the other papers released and falling white against the blue carpet. I opened the letter as my heart kept pounding, and I sucked in air, little sounds spilling from my lips. Daddy was talking but I couldn't understand what he said; I could only gape at the painstaking, gut-wrenching answer of an eighteen-year-old desperately in love.